


Excerpts From the Diary of Zita Rose

by HickoryDaisy



Series: Luckiest Xenophiles [1]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Child Neglect, Cynical?, Diary/Journal, Gen, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, That has already happened so don't worry about it, an attempt at historical accuracy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24899800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HickoryDaisy/pseuds/HickoryDaisy
Summary: On her tenth birthday, Zita receives a diary from her father, and soon takes to chronicling her life within its pages.
Series: Luckiest Xenophiles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801747
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	1. September 2000 - December 2000

**Author's Note:**

> It's here! It's finally here! It only took... *checks calendar* six months of planning! 
> 
> Granted, I was technically planning out the whole series ( _Luckiest Xenophiles_ ), so hopefully that won't happen again...

September 12, 2000

Dear Diary,

Hello! It’s nice to meet you! I got you for my birthday, which was today! Is today? Whatever. Actually, I got you from my father, which is kinda weird. To be honest, I had thought that he’d forgotten about my birthday again. But no, when I got home from skool - school? I mean, the building says “skool”, but it’s a school - he pressed you into my arms, said “Happy Birthday, Zita,” and then stalked off, probably to his computer.

As if that wasn’t bizarre enough, there’s your appearance. Most diaries, at least anymore, are colorful, slim, and adorned with gimmicky locks that wouldn’t keep out an actual determined intruder. You are exactly none of these things. Instead, you’ve got the appearance of an ancient tome in a fantasy story - big, thick, and engraved metal adorning the corners. I think it’s quite delightful, if I may be frank.

Well, except for one little detail. You look like something from one of the things on my father’s computer. I won’t hold it against you, I promise, but I’d like you to make me a promise in return. Promise me that you won’t leave me, abandon me, ignore me, die on me, lie to me, exploit me, or manipulate me. Please.

Thank you, my Diary.

Your best friend,

Zita Rose

~~~

September 13, 2000

Dear Diary,

So far, you’re keeping your promise! I’m so glad. I’ve never had anyone who would simply listen to whatever I had to say before, at least, not since Mom died. She would’ve liked you, I think, but that hardly matters now. She’s been gone for three years now.

Maybe it would be good to talk about her a little bit.

My mother was named Penelope. She was amazing. Easy to talk to, and so very protective of me.

She died in a car crash two years ago. A drunk driver, or at least that’s what my father told me. I don’t have any reason to think it was anything else, but I still don’t trust it as much as I would if it had come from a different source, like an official of some sort or something. My father’s not… the most trustworthy person. Or the most observant.

It’s kinda odd though, how many parents have died or left from my class. My mother died, The Letter M’s mother left, Keef’s father died, Dib’s mother left. Well, I guess that’s only four, but still. It’s oddly noticeable.

Of course, it was difficult to not notice when Dib’s mother left. I mean, Dib’s father is Professor Kennith Membrane, one of the most famous people in the world. It made headlines, especially when she erased herself so that the Professor couldn’t find her again.

Dib claims that this was not something his mother would do, and that she has instead been abducted by aliens. The divorce papers that were meticulously picked over in the news say otherwise. Dib is bad at accepting reality. He’d rather believe that something like aliens or ghosts is responsible for the issues in his life than actually accept that humanity is just… kinda the worst. It’s almost sad, but a good reason to avoid him.

I don’t think he’s crazy, like the rest of the class, but it’s easier to go along with that idea than to defend him without befriending him, and I don’t want to be his friend. His grip on reality is too loose, and I already have to deal with enough of that with my father.

Sorry, Diary, I guess I got a little bit carried away.

Your best friend,

Zita Rose

~~~

September 14, 2000

Dear Diary,

I talked about my mother yesterday, so I guess I should talk about my father today. Ugh.

What is there to say about my father, really? He’s not exactly the most paternal person in the world. He’s a little… off in his own world. And by “off in his own world”, I mean that he prioritises basically everything fictional over everything real.

He owns all nine _Final Fantasy_ games, and has played them to completion many times each, even the ninth one, which only came out two months ago. When he isn’t questing through fantastical locales, either from the _Final Fantasy_ franchise or a different one, he’s playing _The Sims_ , and has been since it came out in January. It got even worse when that expansion pack or whatever came out a couple of weeks ago.

How come he cares about whether or not those little virtual kids do their homework, but never once asks me about mine? Not that I really want him nagging me about homework, but… well, you know what I mean.

Well, I gotta go, Diary. I gotta make dinner.

Your best friend,

Zita Rose

~~~

September 16, 2000

Dear Diary,

Ugh, I forgot that my grandmother was coming over today! Ugh. I hate when she comes over.

My grandmother’s name is Magda Rose, and I’ve long believed her name was “Magda” due to her magpie-like tendency to find and hoard shiny things. Things like power, influence, and money.

My grandmother never liked Mom. At least, not since I can remember. She must have, at some point. My father is so spineless, he’d never do something without his mother’s approval.

My grandmother doesn’t approve of much. She doesn’t approve of people who don’t look like her. She doesn’t approve of “sodomites”. She doesn’t approve of women being too independent from their husbands. She doesn’t approve of me.

I don’t know what a “sodomite” is, but I think I rather like them, just because my grandmother doesn’t. Maybe I’ll meet one someday.

The one time I asked my grandmother what a “sodomite” was, she shoved a Bible in my face and told me to read this really confusing story about like, a city getting destroyed or something. I don’t really remember, it was confusing, and also almost two years ago, I think.

Anyway, my grandmother’s come over for the weekend. She gave me a book about how to be a good wife or something for my birthday. I don’t know, I don’t intend to read it. I’m just glad it wasn’t another Bible.

I have five Bibles, one of which I’ve had since birth, from both of my parents, and the other four are from my grandmother. I’ve looked at the one, obviously, but it’s a little… dense. And antiquated, at least in language. And this isn’t like Shakespeare, where they put in little handy footnotes to explain the old bits, it’s just confusing.

My understanding of the Bible is limited, but I’m pretty sure that my grandmother’s is warped.

I think I hear her coming down the hall. I have to go. Goodbye, my Diary.

Your best friend,

Zita Rose

~~~

September 18, 2000

Dear Diary,

So, good news and bad news.

The good news is, my grandmother left early this morning. The house might be empty when she isn’t here, but I’d rather have an empty house than have her looking over my shoulder all the time.

The house doesn’t feel safe when she’s here.

The bad news is, it’s Monday, which means that I have to go back to school - skool - for the week.

If you had a way to truly speak to me, I bet you’d ask, “What’s so bad about school?”

Well, firstly, the building is labeled “skool”, which is not a point in favor of the local public education system.

Secondly, everyone at school is awful and shallow and stupid, or Dib. And I’ve already told you why “Dib” is not a valid option. Therefore, in order to fit in at school, I’ve got to pretend to be awful and shallow and stupid.

It feels lonely, hiding behind a mask like that, but if I didn’t, I’d actually be alone. At least with the mask, I’ve got a few “friends”.

Mary and Peyoopi are nice enough. I like them, I guess. They’re fine. They forgive me when the mask slips, and that’s what really matters, in any case. I mean, I wish I could have friends who didn’t need a mask, but that’s not an option, so why bother daydreaming?

But keeping the mask up can be so exhausting. I’m so tired all the time, Diary. I’m just so tired.

Your best friend, 

Zita Rose

~~~

October 16, 2000

Dear Diary,

I’ve already told you how much I hate Mondays, haven’t I? Well, this one was even worse than normal.

Dib came in today, babbling about how he’d been watching the sky for aliens over the weekend. Something about the moon being really bright? Whatever.

Anyway, so Dib comes in, babbling about aliens and sounding more than a little out of touch - no wonder everybody thinks he’s crazy - and the teacher’s not doing anything, because the longer Dib’s talking, the longer she can get away with not teaching us anything, so we’re stuck there listening to what Dib has to say.

So Dib has this crazy idea that aliens abducted his mom. I think it stems from his refusal to accept that his mother abandoned him. So that’s where the story started.

Dib went into some backstory about his mother, so I guess I will too. Her name is Helen Membrane. She’s been “missing” for three years. According to Dib, before she vanished, she was a really great mother, and that’s why he refuses to believe that she just left.

I mean, yeah, a total 180 like that is unlikely, but the other option presented here is aliens. It seems far more likely that she just left.

Dib finished talking about his mother - for today, at least - and then launched into this whole spiel about how he thought that Friday was a good day to look for her - apparently, it was the third anniversary of her “disappearance”. I’m not that good with dates, so I can’t say for sure, but Dib probably remembers when his own mother left, so it probably checks out.

Also something about how it being Friday the Thirteenth of October meant something? Especially since it was a full moon? I think that detail might have been why the rest of the class let him ramble as long as they did. They might not believe in weird stuff like Dib, but they are a very superstitious lot.

So Dib apparently went out looking for aliens, instead found a… mothman? What the heck is that?

Well, whatever a mothman is, Dib apparently ran afoul of one, ending up helping some other people chase it off, and then got recruited by a secret organization.

There are several problems with this story.

Firstly, I still don’t know what the hell a “mothman'' is.

Secondly, if you were recruited by a _secret_ organization, why are you telling the class? Isn’t it supposed to be secret?

Thirdly, what kind of organization, secret or otherwise, recruits nine-year-olds? That sounds like a great way to come under all kinds of fire.

Fourthly, _what the hell is a mothman?!_

Dib never once explains what a “mothman” is, just that he ran into one and that this incident somehow attracted the attention of this “organization” of his. I have no earthly clue what it might be. If I didn’t have other things to do, I might look into it, just because this lack of information is driving me nuts.

Your best friend,

Zita Rose

~~~

October 31, 2000

Dear Diary,

Today was Halloween! I went trick-or-treating with Mary and Peyoopi. It was fun! We were all dressed as Disney princesses - Mary was Aurora, Peyoopi was Snow White, and I was Cinderella. Admittedly, I’ve been Cinderella two years in a row, because my father forgot to buy me a new costume this year, but it still fit.

Barely. I need to remember to save up for a new costume next year.

We got lots of candy, too! Tons of my favorites, like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups! I think Peyoopi got the most of the three of us, though. She’s willing to nab a little extra from the unsupervised bowls, and it adds up over the course of the night. Mary’s too much of a sweetheart to do something like that, and I’m too scared of being caught.

After we finished roving neighborhoods, we all went back to Mary’s house to trade candies so that we each had the candies we each like the best. Mary’s dad came in while we were trading, still in uniform and everything. Mary’s dad is a cop.

I don’t know how to feel about cops. I love to read, you know, stories of all kinds. But history is my favorite, because I know that they are real stories, or at least close to. But there are so many parts of history where the police were the bad guys! At school, they tell us that we should go to the police if we’re in trouble, but I don’t know… they aren’t always good people.

Mom never called the police. I don’t think she trusted them either. Especially since a bunch of the history books I read that talked about the things that the police have done used to be hers.

I think Mary’s dad is a good person, though. He’s kind, at least from what I can see. But I still don’t know if I could ever go to him with my problems. Everytime I see him in uniform, I think of the stories of police violently breaking up peaceful protests, and I quail away from him.

I try not to physically quail away from him, though. That would look bad.

I finally got back home around 8:30, or maybe 9, and my father was deep in his games. I think he was playing _The Sims_? He was ranting about someone named Bella Goth…

I spent about an hour stashing candy around the house in small portions. My father likes to help himself to my haul, so I break bits off and hide them in order to make him think that I got less candy than I really did while out.

It’s about ten now, as I write this, and I’ll be going to bed in a moment. I can still hear my father in the other room, talking to the screen and complaining about - well, I’m not really sure. I think I heard him say something about a “Tragic Clown”? But that doesn’t really make any sense.

I wonder, if I played _The Sims_ , would I find it half as interesting as my father does?

Your best friend,

Zita Rose

~~~

November 1, 2000

Dear Diary,

I should have known that it was too much to ask for Dib to not do something weird on Halloween. I guess I should count myself lucky that I didn’t have to hear about it until today, rather than it disrupting my trick-or-treating.

Guess what Dib did. No, really, guess.

If you guessed “look for ghosts”, then you are correct! That’s exactly what he did!

I’m not surprised that ghosts are the thing Dib talks about second-most, after aliens. I think he’d rather think his mother was dead than that she abandoned him.

It would be strange, though, if she were dead. Between the divorce papers on the table and the lack of a body, it just doesn’t seem plausible. Admittedly, it does seem more realistic than alien abduction, however -

In the grand scheme of things, discounting any connection to Dib’s ludacris and fruitless search for alternatives to abandonment, aliens are much more likely to exist than ghosts. I don’t think either of them exist, mind, but hypothetically, aliens are far more plausible than ghosts.

But not in connection with Dib’s mother. He really just needs to accept that she abandoned him and move on. It might be difficult, but he’s got to accept reality at some point, or he’ll end up like my father.

Anyway, back to what Dib was talking about to today.

So apparently Dib found this old spooky house on the edge of one of the nearby suburbs, and decided to explore. Why he decided to do this on Halloween, I have no idea, but whatever.

He said that the house was once white, but currently pretty dirty, so it was hard to tell. He said it was two stories, and that the top floor still had a decaying carpet attached to it. He said that the house was haunted by a young ghost girl named Melody. He said that he went inside the house to talk to her.

What followed this exposition dump was a long and winding tale about exploring an ordinary suburban home that had fallen into disrepair, managing to talk to Melody, and even holding a decent conversation, before she discovered that he had a camera and freaked out, destroying the thing. He then presented his broken camera and little pock marks on his legs as proof of his escapade.

I’m pretty sure that those are just flea bites. And a broken camera is not evidence that said camera was destroyed by a ghost. And ghosts don’t exist, anyway. 

So, basically, Dib went into an abandoned house, got bitten by fleas, destroyed a camera, and then wasted class time rambling on about it. Awesome. So glad for another reason to add to my list of reasons that ditching the mask and throwing my lot in with Dib is a terrible idea, no matter how exhausting wearing the mask all the time is.

Speaking of exhausting, I am exhausted. I’ll talk to you later, Diary.

Your best friend,

Zita Rose

~~~

December 24, 2000

Dear Diary,

Today is Christmas Eve. All the other kids from school are doing something for Christmas. Except for me, because that would require my father to get off the computer for more that an hour at a time, and except for Dib, because his dad hates Santa for some reason that I am unable to ascertain.

I’ve decorated my little table-tree, though, with construction paper chains made from paper I snuck home from school. It’s not the most Christmas-y thing, but I like it. 

When I can, I watch _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ on the VCR. If I’ve got enough time, I’ll watch _Horton Hears a Who_ as well, since it plays right after _Grinch_ on the VHS.

I miss Mom more than ever around Christmas. We used to make cookies together, and she would let me eat little pieces of the dough.

I wonder if my father remembered to get me a gift at all. I wonder if my grandmother decided to actually get me something rather than give me something else that shows how much she doesn’t approve of me.

I suppose the only way for me to know is to wait and sleep. I’ll let you know what I discover tomorrow, Diary.

Your best friend,

Zita Rose


	2. December 2000 - February 2001

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zita's life continues on as it always has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was originally going to be one more entry in this chapter, but it didn't really feel like it went with the flow and tone of the chapter, so I cut it. Sorry about the short length that resulted!

December 25, 2000

Dear Diary,

Christmas was… something. My father gave me a copy of _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_. He said, “You’re always reading, and I heard this is a popular book.” That was all I got from him. Still, it’s not the worst gift I’ve ever gotten. Better than nothing, anyway.

After that, he went back to playing _Sims_ on his computer. Well, it was nice while it lasted.

I also got a gift from my grandmother, technically. It was a set of towels. Charming. Well, at least they’re soft, practical, and not another damned Bible.

Well, that’s all I have to report regarding Christmas, unless you include this year’s Santa Scam.

Every year, somebody gets it into their head to pretend to be Santa. Every year, people buy into it. And every year, it turns out to be a scam. At this point, I’ve just decided to stop paying attention to that stuff. It’s always fake, anyway.

Now that’s really everything I’ve got to say, so I’m gonna go now. If nothing else, I do kinda want to read _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_. I’ve heard some of the other kids at skool/school talking about it. Before, I’ve always had to say I’ve not had a chance to read it, but…

It’s actually a really nice gift, if I look at it the right way. It’ll be super useful for keeping up my mask at skool/school. I know my father didn’t mean it that way, but… in a way, I’m glad that I got something like this.

Your best friend,

Zita Rose

~~~

December 31, 2000

Dear Diary,

Today is New Year’s Eve. It’s been a few days since Christmas, and… I’ve finished _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_ already. Multiple times. And analyzed it. Since it’s something lots of the kids at skool/school talk about, I thought I should make sure I know what I’m talking about.

I have come to the conclusion that people like this book because fantasy and magic, but the actual writing in this book is… bad. It’s bad. Really bad.

I mean, there are so many plot holes that the story doesn’t make sense unless the headmaster was intentionally trying to set up a meeting between an eleven-year-old and the leader of a terrorist organization, and that’s only the start of it!

But whatever. Next time someone asks me about _Harry Potter_ , I can say I’ve read the first book, so that’s good. I’ll probably get asked who my favorite character is. I… don’t know? Not Harry, he’s too oblivious, but both Ron and Hermione are good characters.

Actually, I think that’s the best thing about the actual writing of the book. Both of Harry’s friends have a purpose in the story. Granted, that purpose boils down to “tells Harry things he doesn’t know” in both cases, but they have different knowledge bases, which is interesting.

Hermione has book knowledge. She knows things about their classes. Her intelligence is obvious.

Ron has knowledge of the magical world. He knows how it functions on a social and cultural level. His intelligence is less obvious, but just as important as Hermione’s, if not more so.

Why am I rambling about a poorly written book on New Year’s Eve? 

Diary, can I tell you a secret?

I know why I’m rambling about this stupid book tonight. It’s because… in a way, I wish I was Harry.

Not that I wish I could go to Hogwarts, or that I would want to be the prophesied hero, no, neither of those things.

No. I wish I was Harry because I wish I had a Hermione and a Ron. All I have is Mary and Peyoopi, and I only have them when I hide behind a mask.

I wish I had two friends, or even just one, that stuck by me through thick and thin. I wish I had friends that stood by me no matter what happened, even when things were dangerous. I wish I wasn’t alone.

I wish I wasn’t staying up until midnight tonight all by myself. I wish there was someone here with me tonight. I wish I didn’t need you so much, Diary.

I wish I could talk to someone who would listen, and then reply in kind.

My father listening would require him to get off the computer.

My grandmother listening would require her to not hate me.

No-one at school/skool would ever stay by me after hearing what I have to say, if they would even listen at all.

Actually, Dib might would stand by me after listening, but… that would require him to listen to me in the first place, which he would never do.

He’s far too far away, off in his own little world.

Your best friend,

Zita Rose

~~~

January 1, 2001

Dear Diary,

Happy New Year! Er- I guess so, anyway. It’s a new year, anyway. A new year, full of new possibilities, or at least all the exercise equipment ads on the television are saying anyway.

Look, I just want to watch old TV shows, is that so wrong?

Old TV shows are super episodic and formulaic, so sometimes it’s nice to put them on and then do my homework while they play. I don’t ever really remember what happens in the individual episodes, but I’ll look up every so often, and I’m never lost.

I know what it means when I hear “Danger, Will Robinson!”

I know that Batman will always end up in a death trap, but that he’ll always escape.

It’s comforting, actually. I always know how things will play out, even if the trappings are slightly different, so I never have to think about it too hard, and the familiarity is soothing in more ways than one.

Er- what was I talking about again?

Oh, right. New Year’s.

Yeah, all the commercials right now are like, “this will help with your New Year’s resolution!” or for like, social security and stuff like that for old people. But that second category is always playing, so that doesn’t count.

Why do people assume all the people watching old shows are old people on a nostalgia trip, anyway? I like watching old shows and I’m young, and I doubt I’m the only one.

I like watching old shows because they’ve been quality tested, you know? When it comes to things people are talking about, the older it is, the better it is. If it’s been forty years and people are still talking about it, that means it was good! So watching old shows is a better assurance of quality than flipping on like, Cartoon Network or something.

Wait, where was I going with this?

Hold on, I’m gonna re-read what I already wrote…

I re-read it, and I still have no idea where I was going with this. Oh well. I guess that means I should wrap it up then, huh?

Your best friend,

Zita Rose

~~~

January XX, 2001

Dear Diary,

Today was the first day of school/skool that took place in this calendar year. It was nice to see Mary and Peyoopi again, I guess. And everyone else.

We traded stories about the holidays, although I tried to keep mine vague. I know most people have parents that care for them much more than my father cares about me, and… well, it would be different if I didn’t still have to live with him.

If I told stories about my father that got back to him, I still live there! What if he starts selling my books or destroying the VHS tapes I made of my favorite shows or rips up my clothes or throws out my sketchbooks as revenge? No, no, no, I can’t say anything.

If I didn’t live with him, I’d tell story after story. I’d tell people about the time I embarrassed him at Cracker Barrel, so he refused to buy me a meal or even a drink. I’d tell people about how I learned to cook because he never did.

On a lighter note, I could tell stories about the few times he did cook, because uh… he can’t. It’s a disaster. 

Five words: Open-Faced Peanut Butter S'mores.

Scared yet?

You should be.

Uh… other things that happened today…

Um… I noticed that Dib wasn’t at school today, that was weird. I wonder where he was.

Well, if I find out, I’ll let you know, okay?

Your best friend,

Zita Rose

~~~

January XX, 2001

Dear Diary,

Dib was back at school/skool today.

He began to rattle off some story about bigfoot or something - apparently, there was a mythical creature in his garage, using the belt sander, so Dib gave chase and then got super lost.

That doesn’t really explain why he was gone all day. Surely his father must’ve noticed quickly and made to retrieve him?

Of course, even this batch of superstitious morons couldn’t believe such an obviously fictional story, and they quickly began to ridicule him.

I’m kinda jealous, looking at him. He doesn’t get upset at their insults at all. If anything, he just looks kinda annoyed. The insults almost seem to roll off him like water off a duck’s back.

Ducks, ducks, ducks…

Do you think it’s weird that I like to play board games by myself? I mean, I used to play them with Mom, but she’s gone now, so. Just me.

One of the board games I have is Duck, Duck, Goose. When you win, the bird in the middle of the board says, “You win! Your nest is full of duckies!”

I like to say it too.

When I get an A, when I win a game at school/skool, when I’m with Mary and Peyoopi - when I win, my nest is full of duckies.

Those stupid duckies just won’t stay in the nest, you know? The moment I turn around, they’ve all run away again.

Your best friend,

Zita Rose

~~~

February 14, 2001

Dear Diary,

Today was Valentine’s Day. I mean, I guess it still is, but… that’s not the point. We’re supposed to bring meat for all of our classmates, you know, but…

I don’t know why I expected any different.

My father didn’t buy any Valentine’s Meat, and I didn’t think of it until last night. I couldn’t be the only one to come without meat, so I had to do something.

I did something stupid, and I didn’t have time to tell you yesterday, so I’m telling you now.

I snuck out of the house to go buy Valentine’s Meat.

See, I told you it was dumb.

I had to stay up really late so that I could be super sure my father was asleep, and then crept downstairs and out the front door. I walked all the way to the supermarket, and bought cheap, pre-made Valentines before walking back home. I didn’t get to bed until like… three in the morning?

I’m so tired, my Diary. So, so tired.

The weird part is that, looking back, even less than twenty-four hours later, I can see that it was stupid, and more than likely a product of panic.

I should have just said I forgot my Valentines at home. I should have just planned to say I forgot my Valentines at home.

Oh, well. It’s too late for that now.

I am really sleepy now, my Diary, so I’m going to go on to bed. Good night.

Your best friend,

Zita Rose


End file.
